


If And When God Delivers

by Bawgdan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23113231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bawgdan/pseuds/Bawgdan
Summary: “A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, shapes it, renders it, loves it so radically that he remakes it in his own image.” ~Joan Didion
Relationships: Female Inquisitor & Solas, Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel/Female Lavellan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	If And When God Delivers

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The smell of burnt skin really isn't something one ever forgets. Ellana wakes up, a screeching ring in her ears, her vision spotted with dots of light purple and orange and yellow—still she can smell their skin and hair.

Against Varric's better advice, she sought after Solas. He had disobeyed an order, and while she had yet to fully acclimate to her status as Inquisitor, his unrelenting reluctance had given her anger cause to become a tangible thing. Night came fast. Maybe her anger had become so palpable that the old traces of magic within the Exalted Plains gorged itself on her burning spirit, bringing her to the realization that time is only a concept, not a fact. For you cannot actually feel time creeping across your skin like you can the wind.

She lost time and did not care.

And Ellana still does not care, lying in the mud as birds flutter from twig to branch over her head. The last thing she recalls is slipping in the dark and hitting her head hard against stone. The shadows of the Exalted Plains had felt like different wadding through different dimensions. Was it a jagged rock from a crumbled pillar of a temple? She squints as the sunlight pours down on her face. The trees jutting straight from the ground created dark spots of shadows along her body, blotting out most of the light but her face burns like she'd been set on fire.

Ellana sits up. Her body aches like she'd slept a lot harder than her fall.

"Damn it." She mutters. Camp may be North? None of her surroundings are familiar. Trees can only look so different from each other. Ellana moves her heavy legs and stands on her feet.

She decides that Solas is the bane of her existence. She hates him with all the tiny hairs on her body. He'd disrespected her, often, in rooms crowded with people who look to her for answers and conjured up an unnatural burst of anger she did not know she possessed.

A silent arrow glides past her ear and strikes the tree bark with a violent thump. Ellana straightens her back. Moon-eyed, she turns in a full circle, unable to hone the full extent of her senses. Her vision puddles and rights itself.

" _Mar tarlin_?" A rich elven accent startles her.

She looks up into the trees and a man balances on a branch, plucking another arrow from his quiver, positioning himself to shoot again. Ellana makes no sudden movement. The shade of the trees prevents her from getting a better look.

He speaks again but this time she is unable to understand him. She has never heard elven spoken so fluidly. Instead of running or accosting him, she just glares up at the man in the trees in quiet surrender. The mark pulsates and her fingers spasm.

He changes his mind about piercing her with an arrow. One moment he is up in the air, then he is standing before her. His feet plummeting against the ground. She feels his magic when he touches the surface. The thud sends vibrations up her legs, resonating with the painful thrums in her hand. Sunlight ripples over his muscular form like water. He is tall with the harshness of a mountain. His dark brown hair twisted in complicated braids, knotted with golden beads that catch the glints of sun rays, seeming to not let go of the radiance. Like Dalish, but not really. More artful and meticulous than the Dalish wear their hair. His hair falls from his crest and shines like he doesn't sleep in the grass.

"Solas?" Ellana utters dumbly. The man's mouth wrinkles into a hard frown. He gives her that same scrutinizing look. He leans in close enough that she can smell the sweat on his skin. Ellana attempts to step back, so that she can properly reprimand him, but he grabs her face, digging his sharp nails into her skin. Again, he talks quickly, the words shooting out of him, his spit pecking her cheek, and she can only make out 'slave' and 'master'. She realizes he is considering her vallaslin.

Up close, he is beautiful. In a not-so-Solas way. Magic curls inside of her nose, oozing down her throat, blossoming in her chest. It blankets her anger and the smell of charred flesh. With her mouth squeezed open between his fingers, she swims in his glower.

"Who is your master?" He says clearly, in Solas' voice but Ellana realizes that he isn't Solas at all. Not in the way that she knows Solas. If being subjected to bloviation and one sided arguments is considered _knowing_ someone.

"I have no master." Ellana doesn't fight the spell tingling in the back of her throat.

"But your face says otherwise." He replies with smooth stoicism.

And his hand leaves her face and finds her marked hand. Consternation hardens his sunburnt features. He holds her hand up to his face. The sparks of green reflecting in his eyes. For a long while, he doesn't speak. Ellana doesn't know what to say. She is sure that she isn't dreaming. Dreaming doesn't hurt this bad. Her entire body feels heavy. The magic makes her feel even heavier.

"This is my magic." He looks onto her like she is a criminal. This expression she is too familiar with. Spent many nights learning to properly hate it.

"I didn't ask for it. You gave it to me." She is too weak to snatch her cursed arm free.

"And why would I do such a thing?"

"Necessity I suppose." Ellana very much wishes she weren't the means to an end. "I'm certain that if you had a better option, you wouldn't have given it to me in the first place."

All that guilt and self doubt she has been nurturing sits in her chest, ready to come up into chunks at any moment. She gets a strong feeling that the magic he breathes all over her face is searching for information beneath the truth. To no avail.

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**Author's Note:**

> I have severe writers block. I don't know what this is, but I've been sitting on it. I haven't updated in a while, well it feels like a while and I just wanted to post something. Maybe I will revisit this. Who knows. I've got so much going on in my life. Forgive my missed errors. I didn't have my beta edit this. Thanks for reading.


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